The Weight of a Secret - 6. Chapter 6

After kissing his foot, I resumed the massage. But Connor was now acting differently, using my body as a footstool for whatever foot I wasn’t massaging. After a while, he gently pulled the foot I had been working on out of my hand, and rested both feet on my thighs. Once I looked up at him, and he saw he had my undivided attention, he started talking about something that obviously mattered to him.

“Hey Andrew,” he started, “How far did you get with girls when you were in 7th grade?”

I chuckled, “I'm not the one you want to compare yourself with. Passing me is no accomplishment.”

“He smiled, “no really, like how far do most people get?”

I shrugged, “from what I know, not far at all. I mean, I don't think Patrick even talked to any girls when he was in 7th grade. Zack did, everyone likes Zack, but I don't think he did too much either. How far have you gotten?”

“Not far,” he replied, “Over the summer, there was this older girl at lifeguard training school that liked me. We were on the same training team and she taught me how to kiss. We'd sneak away at break time. It was the first time for me but she was a pro and showed me how to like, use my tongue and stuff. Then at the end of the training session, there was a party and we got to be alone. She started touching me down there and picked up my hands and put them on herself.”

“Wow, you must have been so nervous,” I said.

He smiled, a memory playing out across his face. "Honestly, not really. She was so good at it, I just sort of let her take the lead. It wasn't about me having to perform or anything. I just... followed her." He laughed a little, a sound of genuine ease. "It was actually pretty nice. She just knew what she was doing. It was a good first lesson, I guess."

He shifted, turning his head to look at me, and his casual expression made the next question feel like a punch to the gut. "So, what about you? How far have you gotten? You must have some stories."

I froze. The question, so simple and innocent, felt like a grenade. My heart rate quickened, and I could feel the blood rushing to my ears. My mind raced to find an easy way out, a quick lie. But after all we’d shared...it felt wrong to hide anything from him.

"Uh... honestly?" I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "I haven't really done anything like that with anyone." My hands were balled into fists on the floor next to me.

He fell silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "Man, I thought I was so far behind everyone else," he said, shaking his head. "I guess I'm not so weird after all."

“You are definitely ahead of schedule,” I told him. “I think even more than my brother Mark and he’s very popular with the ladies.”

He chuckled softly. "So, is there a girl you want to do stuff with?" he asked, his voice light and encouraging. He leaned forward, clearly expecting me to name someone from school.

I took a deep breath, the words catching in my throat. I shook my head slightly, still looking at the floor.

"Andrew?" he asked, his tone now a little concerned.

I pulled my hands apart and finally looked at him. My voice came out barely above a whisper, hesitant and unsure. "It's not... it's not girls, Connor."

His smile disappeared. The air in the room seemed to get very, very still. He just looked at me, not with judgment, but with confusion. For a second, I was terrified he would laugh or get up and leave.

But he didn't. He just sat there, waiting.

I took a shaky breath and tried again, forcing the words out. "I, uh... I think, uh.. I think I like guys."

He suddenly moved his feet from my thighs to the floor and was quiet for a long time. I could only hear the low hum of the basement lights. I couldn't look him in the eye. I stared at the floor, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was soft and gentle, not at all like the dominant tone I was used to hearing from him. "Oh," was all he said at first. Then, after another moment of quiet contemplation, he added, "Okay. Cool."

I finally looked up, surprised by his simple, accepting reaction. "You... you're OK with that?"

He shook his head up and down, a small, genuine smile returning to his face. "Yeah, man. I mean, you're still Andrew, right? And honestly, it doesn't really change anything for me. I mean... I still think you're a good guy."

I felt a wave of profound relief wash over me, and my shoulders, which I hadn't realized were so tense, finally slumped. "That... that's a huge relief, Connor," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "You’re the first person, I’ve admitted that to - so glad you didn’t freak out. I haven’t even told Zack."

"Nah," he said, shaking his head again, a low chuckle in his voice. "Why would I? It's just... I don't know, it's just a part of who you are, right? Like me being a football player. It's just... different.

"So..." I started, letting the word hang in the air for a moment. "Anything else on your side?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, there's actually something else. After a game day, I was at a party with a bunch of guys. And this girl, Anna who was on the kick line cheerleading squad, came over to me and we ended up on the porch talking. We just started kissing, and it was... different." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "Not like the girl from lifeguard training. This was more... intense, you know? She was touching my arm, then she put her hand on my chest, right over my heart. I felt like it was going to beat right out of my body."

"What happened then?" I asked, my voice low.

He shrugged. "Nothing really. Her friends came out and it broke the moment. But I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It's like... it's a lot. I think about her when I… you know…"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Man, for someone who hasn't really done anything, you've had a lot of action," I said. "A lifeguard, a cheerleader... you're definitely not behind."

He laughed, the sound easy and unburdened. "Maybe you're right," he said. He looked at me, and his smile softened into something more serious. "Hey, thanks for listening, man. And... and thanks for telling me about you. I know that couldn't have been easy. I'm really glad you told me. Just so you know, I'll always be in your corner."

I was relieved he was so accepting of my situation and it felt good to tell someone about it. For me Connor was the right person since we’ve already shared secrets. There was this mutual trust between us.

Over the next few weeks, any apprehension Connor may have felt about calling me to come over disappeared completely. He knew what I was willing and wanting to do for him and he was no longer shy to ask. It would start by him sending a simple text, “Hey.” The conversation would go something like this:

<Connor> - Hey

<Andrew> - Hey, what’s up?

<Connor> - Practice was brutal

<Andrew> - Going home to relax?

<Connor> - Yep

That was my cue. In a typical week - he had me come over on both Tuesday and Friday when he was home alone. The sessions were more immediate, his feet still moist and his reactions more natural. He stretched his body and moved his feet any way he wanted. It was more than just a foot massage - it was a full unwind, a total release of stress - both physical and mental. I would always start with a kiss in the same spot I placed my lips the first coerced time.

Sometimes, he didn't say much, but a silent, possessive command passed between us. Once he picked up one foot and placed it firmly on the back of my head pushing my face onto the floor. He held the pressure there, then lifted his other foot, pressing it against my face and pinning my head between his soles, covering my mouth and nose.

I stayed in place - not that I could have moved even if I had wanted to - and let my senses take it all in. I felt the pressure from his strong feet and legs, the sight of his soles from this unique vantage point, the strong musky scent, the sounds of his exhales signaling the tension leaving his body and the subtle metallic grassy taste in my mouth from the residue on my lips. In my mind, I imagined the control he exercised and how powerful that made him feel. I wallowed in it. Being there felt so right to me.

He kept me there for what seemed like a long time although it was only a few minutes. He readjusted his feet a little as he stretched out his body - as if to get a better grip on my head and face. I was trying to channel what he felt and I hoped it was an intense dominance. I knew then that Connor felt he could use my face as a massage tool, as an overall stress reliever, and as a means to gratify his desire for power and control.

He eventually released my head. And once I had straightened back up, he moved one foot to rest on my shoulder. He placed the other foot in my hand, and I got back to work. I imagined how heady it must be for him to be able to exercise that degree of control over one of his brother’s peers. His power over me felt absolute and I wondered if I was losing my grip on it all. Even if that were the case, I felt good about the situation.

That Saturday was playoff time and it was a big event in my town. The field was filled to capacity. My brother Mark played for the 8th grade team as a running back so my whole family also attended. Connor’s team played first. I watched him from the stands, the crowd roaring with every play he made. Both our families cheered, calling out his name, but all I could think about was his foot firmly on my face, the private memory a stark contrast to his public dominance on the football field. A part of me was thrilled at the secret knowledge I held, while another part wondered who I had become, seeing a football player younger than my brother in such a submissive way.

Connor's team won as did my brother’s team - setting up a semi-final showdown for the following week. After the game I went back home with my family and helped my brother Mark carry his gear inside. The smell of his sweaty helmet was familiar, but this time, it sent a strange jolt through me, a flash of memory from Connor's basement. I had to quickly shake it off and pretend I wasn't distracted.

That Saturday was the semi-final playoff game. The crowd was even larger than the previous week, buzzing with anticipation. Both our families were there, settled in the stands as Connor's team took the field. He looked even more impressive, totally focused as he ran through warm-ups. When the game started, he was a force on the field, a blur of motion and raw energy.

The first two quarters were a tough battle, with the score tied. In the third quarter, a play unfolded that made my heart leap into my throat. Connor, attempting to break away from a defender, was blindsided by a lineman. The hit was brutal, a sickening thud that echoed even in the roaring stadium. He went down hard, his body twisting in a way that looked completely unnatural. He held onto the ball, a testament to sheer will, but he didn't get up.

A silence fell over the crowd, a collective intake of breath. Coach Falco, a serious-faced man who rarely showed emotion, sprinted onto the field, kneeling beside Connor. The moment stretched on. It was tense and filled me with concern. The sight of him crumpled on the turf felt like a physical blow that had nothing to do with the game. I wasn't watching a football player, I was watching him, and my blood went cold.

After what felt like an eternity, Connor sat up, slowly at first, then nodded at the coach. A wave of relief washed through me. The crowd erupted as Connor walked off the field under his own power, his head held high. He was out for only a few plays, returning to the game with a renewed intensity.

His team went on to win a close, hard-fought victory. My brother's team also won, an easier victory. The victories set up championship showdowns for both teams that would take place in two weeks. Later that day, my phone vibrated with the familiar text. The rest of his family had gone out and he wanted me over there for a post game massage.

The walk to his house was filled with glee and anticipation. I found him in the basement, as usual, sprawled on the couch, a resigned expression on his face. His feet were on the couch and without a word, I went to work, my thumbs digging into the arch of his right foot. He winced, but then a long, contented sigh escaped him.

"Man, you don't even know," he murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. "Those hits... they just jar your whole body. Feels like a truck ran me over."

He was silent for a few minutes, then he spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course," I replied, my hands continuing their work.

"So, there's this girl," he began, "She's always, like, looking at me. And she smiles sometimes. I think she likes me, but then she'll act all distant and hang out with her friends. I don't get it. What's the deal with girls?"

I smiled slightly. This was new. He was actually asking me for advice. "Yeah, they're tricky," I said. "What's she look like? Maybe I know her."

"Tall," he said. "Wavy reddish hair, nice body." He laughed a little. "She's usually wearing, like, her team's volleyball t-shirt or something."

I paused, a flash of recognition hitting me. I'd seen her at the games, always in the stands. "Is her name Becky?" I asked. "Tall, wavy reddish hair, always laughing with her friends?”

"Yeah!" he said, his voice full of surprise. "Becky! That's her. How did you know?"

I let a moment of silence hang in the air, to allow the weight of my words to sink in. "I saw her at the game on Saturday. She was sitting with her friends in the row right in front of mine." I said, my voice quiet but firm.

"When you got sacked, the whole crowd went silent and she immediately stood up when you went down. And she didn't sit down again until she knew you were okay." I looked up from his feet and met his gaze, the secret knowledge of this observation passing between us.

Connor just stared at me for a long moment, the surprise on his face slowly giving way to a smile. He looked completely floored. His eyes, for just a moment, held a raw vulnerability that only I would see.

"Wow," he whispered, a hint of awe in his voice. "Seriously? She did that?"

"100%. She had her eyes on you and only you that whole game." I confirmed, as I took a deep breath, and leaned back over to continue his massage.

He was quiet again, a new weight to his silence. It wasn't the silence of pain or relief, but of thought. He looked down at my hands on his feet, then back up at my face. A small, genuine grin spread across his lips, the kind I'd never seen him show publicly.

"Thanks, man," he said, his voice soft, almost shy. "You're… a good dude. You notice things. I don't know anyone who would have seen that." He shifted his feet slightly, and for the first time that day, I felt his foot actually relax under my touch, the muscles going slack. "So what do I even say to her? Should I just... walk up and talk?"

I smiled, feeling a quiet satisfaction. The physical act of the massage was still there, but now it was a backdrop to a new layer of trust and connection. "Yeah, that's what you do," I told him, as my fingers worked their way up to his calf. "Just be you. People like you. Plus, I think you already have her attention. Just keep at it."

He chuckled softly. "Easy for you to say," he mumbled, but the confidence was already beginning to grow in his voice.

I chuckled, “Actually, it’s not as easy for me. I tend to piss people off.”

“Nah, you’re the best Andrew,” he replied, but I'll give it a try." The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of my hands at work on his feet and calves, but the atmosphere felt different. Our relationship felt lighter, warmer. More like we were friends, connected by a secret world only we knew.

"Does it still hurt anywhere?" I asked, my voice low. I had been focused on his feet and calves, but the memory of him crumpled on the field was still fresh in my mind.

He shifted again, sighing. "My hip, mostly," he admitted. "That's where the guy hit me. And my shoulder, a little."

"Do you want me to work on your hip?" I asked. The question hung in the air for a moment. It felt like a new boundary, an invitation I had never offered before.

"Man, my whole body hurts," he said, and for the first time, the tough-guy façade was gone, replaced by an exhausted look that was more honest than any words. "Just… all over."

I nodded, a silent understanding passing between us. I moved to his side, and he sat up to pull his team undershirt off, leaving him in just his boxers. He lay back down, and with a grunt, he adjusted the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down slightly, revealing a developing dark red mark with a hint of purple on his hip.

"That's where he got me," Connor said, his voice quiet. The bruised area was about the size of a baseball, and it looked tender.

"Ouch," I said softly, my voice filled with genuine concern. "That looks bad. You probably should be icing that."

Connor sighed again, a sound of resigned exhaustion. "Yeah, maybe."

I walked over to the refrigerator they had in the basement and opened the freezer. They had one of those blue ice packs in there.

I grabbed it and asked, “Hey Connor, do you have an elastic bandage?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom medicine cabinet,” he replied.

I went over to grab that too and put the ice pack in place and wrapped the elastic tape to hold it there. “There, that will help the swelling while I work on the other areas.”

I began to work on his hips. I dug my thumbs into the tight muscles there, tracing the line of his hip bones. He groaned, a sound of both pain and pleasure, and a wave of warmth coursed through me. I moved to his shoulders, kneading out the knots of stress and tension. I worked my way down his arms, my hands firm but gentle, then up to his neck. I felt his whole body relax under my touch, the tension of the game, the stress of the hit, all of it slowly melting away. He had given me a new kind of access, a complete trust that felt even more significant than the dominance he had shown before.

The following week Connor had practice every day. To my surprise, he didn't message me to come over that Tuesday. But he finally texted me on Friday.

<Connor> - Hey

<Andrew> - Hey, what’s up?

<Connor> - Brutal week of practice - I’m sooo sore

<Connor> - I got some good news to share when I see you next

"Hey man," he said, grinning when I arrived. His face shone with excitement, a light in his eyes I hadn't seen before.

"Hey," I replied. "What’s going on?"

His grin widened. "Dude, you're not going to believe it," he said, setting his phone down. "I did what you said. I saw her in the hallway on Monday, just before lunch. I walked right up to her and said, 'Hey, you're Becky, right? I'm Connor.' I told her I saw her at the game and I wanted to know if she'd want to hang out sometime. It was so much easier than I thought it would be."

He sat up, his excitement bubbling over. "She said yes! We hung out that afternoon and went to get ice cream and talked so easily. Then on Tuesday she came over here. We just watched a movie, but it was awesome. I can't believe I was so nervous about it."

He lay back down on the couch, talking animatedly as my hands went to work on his feet. "We were just talking, and I don't know, it just felt right. We were watching the movie, and she leaned her head on my shoulder, and then she looked up and... well, we kissed. It wasn't just a peck, either, it was like a real kiss, and it was... man, it was incredible. She's got this super soft mouth, and she tastes like cherry lip gloss."

I chuckled while feeling real happiness for his accomplishment.

"But tonight's the night. I'm going out with her. This could be my first real girlfriend."

I worked on his shoulders, kneading the tightness from the muscles. "That's awesome, man. What's the plan?" I asked, keeping my tone light.

"Just dinner and a movie. Nothing too crazy." He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping his lips as I moved to his hips. "I went to the doctor yesterday, just to be sure and all is good. My hip is feeling way better."

I nodded, my fingers tracing the outline of the bruise. The deep purple had faded to a lighter yellow-green. "Looks like it's healing nicely," I murmured, my focus on the skin, the muscle, the bone beneath my touch. I continued the full body massage, moving from his hips to his arms and legs, a quiet, focused energy passing between us. It was a familiar ritual, a wordless conversation of trust and relief.

The next week felt like a slow burn. The entire town was buzzing with talk of the championship games that Saturday. Two local teams, both playing for the title. Everyone knew someone on one of the teams, and the energy was infectious. Mark's team was scheduled to play first, then Connor's, making it a double-header of epic proportions.

I was excited about the championship games like everyone else in town. But I was also dying to learn how Connor's date with Becky had gone. So I was disappointed that he didn't call me over until Friday, the day before the championship game. When I arrived at his place I found him in his usual position.

“So how’d your date with Becky go?” I asked.

Dude, you're not going to believe it," he said, a mix of awe and pure excitement in his voice. "We went out for dinner last Friday, and it was so much fun. We talked about everything and really got to know each other."

"Then we went to the movies, and in the dark... she just reached over and grabbed my hand. I felt like I was going to explode. And then she put her hand on my leg, and she didn't take it off the whole movie. I could feel her hand right on my thigh, and I couldn't even focus on the screen, man. It was crazy."

He shook his head, a stunned look on his face. "And since then, we've been hanging out a few more times. We went for a walk at the park, and she was holding my hand again. And we sat on a bench, and she put her head on my shoulder, and then kissed me again! She's so much more forward than I am. She just... does things. It's like she knows what to do."

He sighed, a sound of pure contentment. His grin widened even more as if to signal the story was about to get even better. "The next day she invited me to her house after school. We started kissing again, like real serious making out! Then…I started to move my hands - like on her arms first - then her boobs and all over.“

I listened intently, as I worked on his toes, absorbing his delight as he spoke, “That’s awesome, Connor!”

“Andrew, I got like rock hard, like instantly, and, and, she saw the bulge in my shorts… and she put her hand there. We kept kissing and then she slid her hand inside and actually touched it and started jerking it.”

“Wow! How'd that feel?” I asked.

“I, I didn’t last too long - like 5 minutes but it felt amazing,” he replied with a mix of thrill and embarrassment.

“Dude, most people don’t even last that long the first time,” I assured him.

He lay back down, a look of pure bliss on his face. He was still talking, still overflowing with details, but a peacefulness had settled over him as my hands worked on his hips. He trusted me and allowed me to freely touch him and that felt even more significant than the dominance he had shown before.

He kept a constant smile of accomplishment and contentment as I moved to his upper torso. I started to work on his shoulder and arm, particularly his throwing arm.

“Yeah, right there Andrew,” he said, “that feels really good and I need it for the game tomorrow.

I kept working on his shoulders and arms for a while. I had just moved back down to his legs when his phone buzzed. He picked it up and looked at it as an ear to ear grin spread across his face. “Look at this,” he said, sitting up and holding the screen so I could see it.

I read the message:

<Becky> I’m thinking of you, wishing I was touching you, and touching myself.

“What should I say?” He asked as a smile developed on his face. He typed something on his phone and showed it to me, “should I send this?”

<Connor> I wish you had your hand on it again too, and I wish you’d let me touch yours.

I smiled and nodded as he sent it. Then came a reply from her which he responded to. It went back and forth and he focused on that. I noticed the same thing Becky noticed that day at her house - the bulge in Connors shorts. It was more visible to me since he was only in his boxers now.

He texted back and forth a while then paused for a second putting his phone down, looked at me and said, “I know this is asking a lot, Andrew, and I won’t be upset if you say no, but Becky has made me super horny. I... would love it… like you’re the only one I’d trust to do this… um… Would you jerk me off while I text her and pretend she’s the one doing it.”

I don’t know if he knew I was going to accept his request, or if he saw it more as a command. Before I could answer, he had started sliding off his boxers, fully exposing himself.

I got my first full look at his erect penis. It was long and thick, with a wonderful color disparity—the head a vivid pastel pink, and the shaft a milky white. It was warm and taut to the touch, the skin folded nicely under the head, glistening slightly in the dim light. A delicate barely perceptible river system of veins coursed just beneath the surface, a faint blue road map that seemed to pulse with a silent rhythm. The head was distinct and chiseled, like a piece of polished marble sculpted into a subtle helmet shape. Its slopes and flares were soft, finishing in a slight flange where the color darkened to a rich crimson, a perfect accent to its beauty.

I made no verbal response. Instead, I moved to my knees, and I placed myself between his spread out feet. He picked up the couch cushion next to him and placed it on his lap to act as a shield - he clearly thought, the less he saw of me, the better. He held his phone in one hand. As the text exchange started, I took a hold of his penis. It was hard and solid, like a steel pole. I felt a living, radiating heat that made my palm tingle. Not knowing exactly what he wanted me to do, I went with my instincts and started stroking. I started slowly at first moving his firm skin up and down folding the skin on and off his glans. My hands seemed to have an intuition of their own. A kind of quiet confidence settled over me. This was new territory, and yet, it felt as natural as massaging his feet had become.

The pace of the texting intensified and I sped up my stroking. After a few minutes, he moved the cushion to the side, sitting up somewhat on the couch. “Hold up a second,” he said as my hand held his shaft just under the head.

He leaned in, pursed his lips and let a large gob of spit drop right on the head and onto my fingers. He sat back, again putting the cushion back in position.

The saliva served as a natural lubricant. It soaked in and made a soft slushy sound as I jerked him off. He started to move his hips, thrusting them forward a bit. I took that as a signal to quicken the pace even more. The only sounds were the soft thud of his fingers tapping on the phone, the slosh of his foreskin moving back and forth across his glans and his intensified breathing. His breath hitched in a sharp, guttural sound, and the muffled thump of his hips against the couch became a rhythmic, frantic beat.

His breathing got faster and he started to moan softly. The excitement built to a crescendo until he exploded. The sheer power of his ejaculation was a seismic event, easily 4 to 5 times more forceful than mine ever was. Connor’s pearlescent fluid shot out like a jet from a pressurized hose, arcing through the air with an audible hiss and landed all over, including on me. The hot, slick spray hit my shirt and face like a sudden, drenching downpour. I could feel the sticky rivulets running and drying on my skin in the cool air of the basement. It was like he christened me with his seed. I didn't flinch. I just stayed perfectly still, a silent, willing recipient of his release.

I saw his whole body tense and the soft clenching of his toes, before his shuddering release. His climax wasn't a series of pulses; it was a few, sustained, jet-like discharges that seemed to defy the limits of a human body. He shot 5 to 6 ropes making the two shots I usually produce seem pathetic. I felt awe at the sight and the feel of Connor’s semen. I watched him, a part of me wondering if this was the raw, unrestrained power that came with being a man like Connor, and if my own body was just fundamentally different, fundamentally less.

After his climax, every ounce of energy seemed to drain from him at once. For a few minutes, he just lay there, taking slow, deep breaths, and I felt the 'steel pole' I had been holding go soft, a warm, heavy weight that felt languid in my hand.

He sat there, face flushed and eyes distant, and in that quiet, vulnerable moment, the dominance faded away. He was just another boy, exhausted and exposed, undone by his powerful climax. The sight filled me with a strange, but wonderful warmth, as if I had been entrusted with a profound secret and granted a hidden glimpse into his private world. It was a fragile side of him I had never imagined, and it felt like a gift meant just for me.

He broke the silence, 'Oh yes,' he whispered, his voice a low, husky rumble. He then tossed the pillow to the side, a final, definitive motion. 'That was intense.'

He fell into a rhythm of slow, deep breaths, and in that quiet, vulnerable moment, the only sound was his contented exhales. But the spell broke a few minutes later when he finally spoke: 'Thanks Andrew. You can go after you clean this up.”

I didn't say a word, just did as he told me. After a few minutes of quiet cleaning up, the sprays on the floor and couch and then myself, I glanced back at him. He had a contented smile on his face, fully engrossed in the text conversation with Becky. He never looked up.

I left quietly and walked home in the cool air. My mind was a whirlwind of emotion, a mix of awe, inadequacy, and a new sense of belonging. I kept replaying the scene in my head, the power of his climax, the sheer force of his release. Compared to that, my own experiences felt small and childish. Was this what a "real man's orgasm" was supposed to be like? A single, powerful, all-consuming explosion? The thought filled me with a strange sense of inadequacy, a feeling that I was somehow less of a man, less powerful, less complete.

I was in awe of Connor, of his complete and total surrender to the moment, of the raw power he was capable of releasing. He had shown me a side of himself that no one else saw—the vulnerable side that needed solace and release, and the powerful, dominant side that took what he wanted.

Our intimacy was a one-way street, I knew that. I gave him what he needed, and he, in turn, allowed me to be there, to be a part of his world in a way I never would have been otherwise. But still, there was a sense of connection, a deep intimacy forged in the secret world of his basement. It was a strange dynamic, one that left me feeling both closer to him and more separate from him than ever.

I’d almost gotten home, just about to walk up my driveway, when I got a text from him:

<Connor> - Still super sore could really use a massage before the game tomorrow

So I headed back to Connor’s to finish his massage. When I got there he was still in the same position in which I had left him and he was still texting away. He didn’t look up at first, then when he did, he put up a finger signaling me to wait. He sent another text, then looked up at me and pointed to his feet. I knelt down and massaged his feet. I then turned to his shoulders and arm.

When I finally got back home, my mind was still a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I knew one thing, though. This was the start of something new, a deeper, more complicated bond between us that left me both scared and curious to see where it would lead.